


home

by changgus



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed, they're all overworking themselves please sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/changgus/pseuds/changgus
Summary: The video calls were fully Yuto’s idea. Wooseok hated that shit, almost never picked up his phone for even a regular call, but something about the way Yuto asked had him caving. Now, they call at least once a day. It’s not even really about having something to say, but more that Yuto feels lighter in his bones just hearing the rhythm of Wooseok’s breathing, knowing that he’s somewhere and solid even out of sight.
Relationships: Adachi Yuto/Jung Wooseok
Comments: 20
Kudos: 66





	home

**Author's Note:**

> it's been um several months since i properly wrote maknae line anything but y'know variety is the spice of life and i was feeling very soft after yuto's live this morning - as always, hope y'all enjoy!

Days like this, schedules packed tight with no room to breath, always leave Yuto in this weird limbo - stretching on endlessly and blinking by at the same time, his limbs weighted with exhaustion by the end but his mind unable to stop running. It’s easier to fill the gaps in with studio time. At least under the purple lights he feels like it all means something, like the itch in his fingers is something productive. 

Lately he’s been spending whole days like this, just him alone, fidgeting between guitar and piano and running through the recommended section on youtube when his brain feels a little too full. It’s a comfortable cycle, working, writing, working, sending memes to Wooseok, writing more. 

The video calls were fully Yuto’s idea. Wooseok hated that shit, almost never picked up his phone for even a regular call, but something about the way Yuto asked had him caving. Now, they call at least once a day. It’s not even really about having something to say, but more that Yuto feels lighter in his bones just hearing the rhythm of Wooseok’s breathing, knowing that he’s somewhere and solid even out of sight. 

Being in the studio where everything feels small and like it makes sense and Wooseok there as a window into something else that makes sense too.

It helps keep him from getting too in his own head, all those hours alone, eyes straining against the blue light of his computer screen. He can hear Wooseok laugh in real time when he sends a fried .jpg into their chat, see his gums peek out from his lips in that warm way when he really means it.

Tonight is a little bit different. They’d had a live stream earlier in the evening, all of them crowded around a picnic table, taking turns grilling meat and trying not to get eaten alive by mosquitoes. So by the time he settled into the chair in his studio later that night, it didn’t really feel like he had any reason to ask for a video call. They’d been together all day, all of them, which was getting harder with everyone’s schedules. He had no reason to want this. He could just wait until he was home.

Except he couldn’t, really, there was that itch, in his bones. He needed something he didn’t have a name for.

He tries to distract himself for a while. He fidgets with his guitar, he writes three lines of lyrics and then deletes the document. He eyes his Switch and considers opening up his abandoned Animal Crossing file. Nothing feels right. He ends up snagging a company phone and setting up V Live.

Yuto always likes doing livestreams from his studio. It’s a nice distraction, just scrolling through comments, playing music. He knows he can just say whatever’s on his mind and it’ll be fine.

There’s certain comments that always come up, asking him to speak any number of languages he doesn’t understand, things auto-translated poorly but with good intentions, asking what the other members are up to. He usually ignores this brand of comment, or tries to, it’s hard to really keep up with how fast everything moves. His eyes catch a comment asking for Wooseok and even though he’d been resisting it all night, he decides to give in and call.

It’s different if a fan asks for it, isn’t it? He’s not calling for himself, he’s calling because it’s part of the job. It’s fine.

Wooseok picks up almost immediately, his voice rough from how tired he is. Yuto feels something swell behind his ribcage.

“Wooseok-ah, why aren’t you sleeping?” Yuto smiles into the camera, holding his phone in frame like it matters if the fans watching can see it or not. It’s just a voice call but even just that is enough to lift him up, make him feel like a balloon let go from the sticky hand of a child. “What are you doing?”

“I’m writing lyrics.” Wooseok crackles through the speaker. He sounds kind of amused and Yuto knows the exact face he’s making without being able to see him.

Comments flood in even faster at the sound of his voice. It’s near impossible to keep up but there’s a recurring theme he can catch through the stream - concern over their sleep schedules, telling them over and over to go to bed.

“Tell Universe you’ll go to sleep soon.” Yuto says, half for the fans and half for himself.

“Okay,” Wooseok laughs. “Universe, I’ll go to sleep soon. Just in a little bit.”

He wants him to, because he cares, and while his own sleep schedule is a mess it’s different if it’s Wooseok. He wants him to be okay, to relax when he can. But there’s also a part of him that hopes he’ll still be up when he gets home, waiting for him.

“I’ll see you later?” He hopes it sounds casual but can hear the tenderness in his own voice.

“Yeah.” Wooseok replies, tone a mirror, a reflecting pool of sincerity.

He wonders how much it comes off on camera. He knows what people say about him, say about them, but he wonders how much it actually bleeds through. He wonders how obvious he really is. He thinks he knows.

Throughout the live stream he keeps finding himself wandering back. He talks about their camping trip, their video calls, their day. He catches a comment that says ‘you’re talking about Wooseok again!’ and can’t help his instinctual response - “Sorry, I just really like him.”

He’s live for two hours before he feels his eyes getting heavy and decides to wrap it up. It’s almost three in the morning and the numbers glare at him from his phone screen.

He’s got a couple missed texts from Wooseok too. He can tell from the message previews that at least one is an animated sticker of a little man yelling but he can’t quite make out the wiggling text from the thumbnail. In the hours between their last schedule and now, he’s gotten nothing done. He never feels like he’s doing enough and it sits heavy on his chest, a tangible weight that makes it hard to breath.

There’s his soundcloud, sure, writing credits littered through their discography, he’s even started writing for other groups too. On an objective level, he knows he’s doing _things_ but when he sits down and lets himself think, he always feels like he’s somehow coming up short.

He has a certain level of expectation for himself and he’s always reaching, reaching, but never quite catching. It slips through his fingers like silk.

Yuto packs up his things slowly. He shoots off a quick response to Wooseok, mainly just to let him know he’s heading back, and shoves his things into his backpack. It’s late enough that there’s no one to recognize him on his way out of the company building but he slides a black cotton mask over his face anyway.

He’s done this trek home so many times it’s muscle memory. He taps his transit card without even looking, knows exactly which car will have the most empty seats.

His phone is silent in his hands, no new texts since he’s settled in and shoved his air pods into his ears. The ride is short anyway, barely long enough to even start any of his playlists, but he still bites down this weird disappointment that Wooseok really fell asleep without him. 

The subway lights are bright in that artificial way and burn against his eyes. He’d managed to snag one of the seats next to the doors and lets his head rest against the pole, slips his eyes shut and leans into the feeling. Over his music he can hear each stop announcement, the voice he could recite by heart at this point. At some of the bigger stops that same voice will cycle through languages, making sure all the tourists know this is where they’re meant to go, he has this memorized too.

When he pushes through their apartment door, it’s quiet. The sound of cars driving by in the night and the occasional drunken murmuring punching through the glass of their patio as he slips off his shoes, tucks them into the cabinet by the door, makes his way down the hall. There’s no light seeping out from Wooseok’s door but he cracks it open anyway.

It’s hard to see in the blue-dark of his room, but Wooseok’s curled up on his bed, covers pulled to his ears, and just beyond the edge of his blanket - his phone loose in his hand.

At the sound of Yuto clicking the door shut behind him, Wooseok cracks one eye open. “Hey.”

His voice is thick and syrupy in his throat. Even muffled by his comforter Yuto can tell the way his lips twitch at the corners. This part has always been easy, even when they were younger and unsure about everything else, this has always made sense. 

Wooseok scoots backwards on his bed until his back hits the wall and lifts the blanket with his arm in invitation. Yuto peels off his jeans, the long sleeve shirt he’d been wearing all day, and climbs in. They find each other in the dark like a lighthouse guides a ship to shore. In the tangle of their limbs, Yuto relaxes into the main way he’s come to define ‘home’.

“How’d it go?” Wooseok’s eyes are already closed again, but he curls into Yuto like he’s trying to climb inside of him.

“I’m caught up on One Piece again, double chapter last week.”

“That good, huh?” His breath fans warm against Yuto’s neck as he laughs.

“Your lyrics?”

Wooseok hums into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Yuto brushes the hair from his forehead, calloused fingers gentle across his skin.

“That good, huh?” 

Wooseok laughs again, leans back and cracks one eye open so he can catch Yuto’s expression. There’s this one laugh that Wooseok has, where his eyebrows knit together, like he’s not even really sure he’s meant to be laughing but can’t help it. Yuto tilts forward and presses his lips there, right on the knot between his brows.

“Hey, I want a real one.” Wooseok pouts, catching Yuto’s warm hand against his cheek.

Yuto shuffles down just enough to fulfill his request, just a soft brush of their lips until Wooseok whines in the back of his throat. It’s hard not to laugh in his own way at the sound, instead he brushes his thumb over the crest of Wooseok’s cheekbone and properly slides their mouths together.

This, too, is muscle memory. He could find his way here even in the darkest room, through anything he could find him. 

Wooseok sighs into his mouth, one hand curling absentmindedly around the strap of his tank top, pulling him closer. It’s sloppy, just a wet press of their lips in the tired dark, but it feels like settling in, like releasing a held breath, or putting on something warm at the end of the day.

Yuto cups Wooseok’s face in his hands and kisses his lips, his cheeks, one kiss to each eyelid, the curve of his jaw. He kisses him until he’s laughing between his hands, kisses him like this is all he knows to do.

“I set, like, five alarms.” Wooseok says when Yuto relents to press their foreheads together.

“You won’t wake up for any of them.” Yuto drags his fingers through Wooseok’s hair, soft still despite all the bleach. It’s starting to get long again, brushing over his ears and into his eyes.

“Yeah.” Wooseok laughs, kisses Yuto again. “That’s what I have you for though.”

There are so many different ways to spell love, to say you are my person, and Yuto thinks he could spend a lifetime cataloguing all of them, that none of his notebooks could possibly hold everything he has to say to and about Jung Wooseok. Everything he gets to hear and be told in turn.

“Goodnight, Wooseok-ah.”

Yuto presses one last kiss into his lips and knows he knows. They curve together under the blankets, warm in a world of their own, and Yuto feels the weight lift.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/gayjinho) // [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/gayjinho)


End file.
